Let Us Begin
by Brave November
Summary: A narrative of the Two Universes. May be loosely associated with canon. May ignore it completely at points. Bound to be filled with philosophical nonsense which should not be taken seriously outside of the story, or possibly within it.


Discalimer: I don't own anything from Lexx. If I did, The third and fourth seasons would have been very different.

I have no idea what my aim in writing this is; I already have projects I should be focusing on. But last night at work, a very dry voice began speaking in my head, weaving a thousand weird speculations I had previously entertained into what seems to be a comprehensive narrative. I suppose my primary goal is to shut it up.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a girl. . .

No. Wait. We must go back further. Back for countless aeons, to the time before the Ascension of the Shadow. This is not a digression. It is an explanation.

So. Once there were two universes, exact opposites, or close enough that it makes no difference. In one, life of all kinds flourished—by which we mean its myraid races evolved and spread across the stars, quarreling with every other race they encountered and sometimes with one another. It was a terrible place, and it time it was named the Universe of Chaos. The other universe also possessed life, but only of one kind. They had no name, for they knew what they were, but we shall call them the Insects. They were not a civilization, for that word implies the unification of disparate elements into a whole; think of them, rather, as a unity. They, too, left whatever planet they sprang from and spread across their stars—not in fits and spurts, as the peoples of the other universe did, but in a great, synchronized wave. For obvious reasons, their universe must be referred to as the Universe of Order.

Why these two universes should have evolved in such wildly different manners is a matter of debate, at least among those who care about such things. Some say that it was a consequence of laws as immutable as Time, and that the very existence of one necessitated the existence of the other. Those with a more mystical turn of mind believed that two feuding gods created these realms to demonstrate to one another the superiority of their ideas in some sort of divine contest. Which is true? That is the wrong question. There are few things of which we may be certain, and truth is not one of them. It is enough to know that both existed.

But why "universes," you ask. How can there be two universes? Does not the word itself describe a singular thing? To which I say, shut up. I could use other words: dimensions, realities, continuum, so forth and so on. I will not. The word I have chosen is "universe," so be content with it and listen.

Now, as I was saying, these two universes were opposed to one another in fundamental ways, so it was inevitable that they must come into conflict. Why? For the same reason fire must burn, and stars must die, and pupils must ask foolish questions. There is no record of who the first trespassers from one Universe to the other were, but one can reasonably assume that it was the inhabitants of Chaos, driven by their strange and contradictory yearnings, who stumbled across the passages linking the two together. These passages are not of either universe—they belong to that mysterious realm called Otherspace, and trying to explain _that_ would be a waste of words. Besides, this prologue has already become overlong. We must get back to the girl.

Imagine the wandering barbarians of Chaos stumbling into the serene structure of Order. Imagine their astonishment at the discovery of a race that was so much _one_ that it had no concept of _other_. Imagine them swaggering about, mouths agape, like vandals in a museum, reverent and ignorant—and imagine also the horror that their existence instilled into the Insects of Order. These strange creatures—these damaged, _separate_ entities—affronted them by their very existence, and so they were destroyed. Not out of malice, mind you—the Insects were not capable of such concepts. They merely could not conceive of anything existing outside of their own harmony. They quickly eliminated the invaders and sought out the secret passages from whence they had come. They discovered the terrible beauty of the Universe of Chaos, and decided—as much as such creatures could decide—that it had to go.

And so there was war, and although the Insects had never needed to develop such a concept, they proved as efficient in it as they did in all things. This war spanned aeons, and many of the species of Chaos fell to the Insects before they were truly aware of their existence. But the people of Chaos were no strangers to war, for they had practiced it diligently among themselves, and heroes inevitably rose to defend their home against the implacable invaders. The consequences of this war were far greater than the extermination of one or even a dozen species. You see, the attack of the Insects forced the people of Chaos to forge a sort of unity among themselves, while the Insects' very desire to eliminate the creatures that threatened the sanctity of Order caused them to _change._ And thus the denizens of each Universe were corrupted by one another.

Chaos proved stronger than Order in the end, because Chaos can adapt to Order, but Order cannot adapt to Chaos without losing itself in the process. This, more than any feat of arms or act of bravery, was what allowed the Brunnen-G to lead their barbarian armies to victory against the Insects, though I doubt they would say so. These warrior-poets vanquished the last of their opponents—or so they thought—and won the Universe of Order. The coalition of people shattered, for it was not in the nature of Chaos to act as one, and its denizens spilled across the worlds of Order as they had across their own, abandoning the wreckage of their own realm. They created great and wonderful things and destroyed them just as easily, and the conquered Universe might have gone the way of their own if not for one being.

The Brunnen-G had failed, you see. There was one creature of Order left, and this last scion carried the memories of its entire race. For centuries it slumbered, dreaming the strange dreams of its people, until some luckless human blundered into it. It was the annihilation of both beings, though that was not apparent at the time. The remnant of Order impressed itself onto the fragile mind of its host and went out into the Universe that had been its home, and beheld the ruin it was becoming. It could hardly help trying to restore Order, for that was its purpose, its one drive. That it was the last of its kind did not deter it. Humans are poor tools for Order, but the creature forced them to suit its purposes. It conquered and it traded and it explored, and, century by grueling century, it forged the humans into a mighty society that mimicked its own. But as it moved from host to host, it was twisted. Countless human consciousnesses eroded its own, and it learned things no creature of Order was meant to know. In short, it went mad.

Pity this last remainder of a dead race, striving in vain to fulfill a purpose it could not even think of abandoning and driving itself insane in the striving. But do not forget to fear it, for it combines the unbreakable will of Order with the worst elements of Chaos. It is an abomination.


End file.
